12 February 2004 Edition

Rotten to the core

The latest revelations about former Fianna Fáil Minister Pádraig Flynn and
his daughter Beverly underline once again that politics in the 26 Counties
is fundamentally corrupt.

Evidence before the Mahon tribunal from property developer Tom Gilmartin
alleges that not only did Flynn receive a £50,000 cheque from the developer,
but that his daughter Beverley, a sitting Fianna Fáil TD, allegedly helped
him to stash the money in an illegal offshore account.

Three senior cabinet members in 1989, Haughey, Burke and Flynn, are now
known to have accepted large sums from businessmen for their private use,
and to have evaded tax.

Questions continue to surround the role of the Taoiseach, Bertie Ahern, at
this time. Gilmartin insists Ahern attended at a meeting between himself and
several government Ministers, including Haughey and Burke, to discuss his
plans for developments in Dublin, after which Gilmartin was asked to deposit
a massive sum in a secret Isle of Man account. Former Minister Mary
O'Rourke, who briefly entered the room in which the meeting was held, now
backs up Gilmartin's version of events.

A certain scandal fatigue has overtaken the Irish public in recent years. We
have become so used to revelations of corruption, tax evasion and suspect
dealing among politicians and business figures that we are in danger of
losing our sense of outrage. It is with little anger, and scarcely any
surprise, that we hear of yet another politician who has broken the law, or
abused their position.

Partly this is due to the nature of the tribunals set up to investigate
corruption. Their proceedings are slow and cumbersome; the result is a
drip-feed of revelations over a period of years, while the events in
question recede ever further into the past. Partly it is because there have
been too many scandals. When I was a teenager, the papers were full of
stories about a "golden circle" of businessmen in receipt of favours from
Fianna Fáil. Every year since has brought some further scandal.

We have lived so long with corruption, we have become familiar, almost
comfortable with it. Bent politicians have become a joke. When I became a
member of Sinn Féin one of my friends laughingly told me I should have
joined a party where I'd have got handed brown envelopes.

Corruption is not a victimless crime. Its victims lie on trolleys in the
corridors of hospitals bled white by cutbacks while the political elite
evaded tax and secreted millions overseas. They are in damp and rat-infested
schools, the legacy of decades of under-investment and neglect. They are in
sprawling housing estates without proper infrastructure or adequate
services, legacies of a corrupted planning system that will remain with us
for decades to come.

Nor is corruption ancient history, an aberration that belonged exclusively
to the Haughey years. In times of trouble, traditional societies sometimes
chose a scapegoat — a single individual who was chosen to bear the guilt of
the whole community, and put to death to expiate their sins. Charles Haughey
is now being used as a scapegoat for Fianna Fáil and for Irish politics. But
corrupt as he undoubtedly was, corruption did not begin under Haughey and it
did not end with his departure from office.

Fianna Fáil is a tainted party, and politics in the 26 Counties is a tainted
business. That taint cannot be rubbed out by a simple change of personnel.
It is not just a case of a few bad apples. The whole barrel is rotten and
stinking.

Corruption is integral to 26-County politics. Ours is a political system
with clientelism as its foundation, in which favours are the currency of
political power, where the personal qualities and political beliefs of a
candidate for public office play second fiddle to their ability to act as a
fixer for their constituents. In theory, a TD is meant to deliberate and
vote on laws for the benefit of all. In practice, they are usually a
combination of ombudsman, citizens' advice bureau, and messenger-boy for
their constituency.

Glimpses into this political culture occasionally surface. As a Minister in
the last coalition, Bobby Molloy made representations to a fellow member of
the government on behalf of a man convicted of raping his own daughter. The
Taoiseach recently intervened in a planning matter in response to the
prompting of a constituent. Plainly, neither man paused to think whether his
intervention was right or wrong. A constituent was making a request to them,
and this was all that mattered.

This kind of clientalism is not only amoral, but profoundly dishonest. Both
Bobby Molloy and Bertie Ahern, in making their respective interventions,
undoubtedly knew these would not make a blind bit of difference to the
decisions of the public servants they lobbied. But what was the chance of
them telling their constituents that (a) it was not proper for them to
intervene in these circumstances, and (b) in any case, their intervention
would have no effect? That's not how Irish politics works.

So what happens when the constituent is not Mrs Murphy, wondering if she
could get bumped up the housing list, but a wealthy businessman with a
chequebook under his arm? Receiving political donations in return for
favours is only a logical step up from doing favours in return for votes.
And if some of the donation ends up in the politician's back pocket, to be
spent on a luxury yacht or dinner at Le Coq Hardi instead of leaflets and
posters, who's going to notice?

Big business and politics enjoy an unhealthily close relationship in many
countries. Businessmen may claim they give money to political parties out of
a disinterested concern for democracy, but what they are really doing is
buying access — paying for the opportunity to meet with and bend the ears of
the most powerful people in the land. This alone gives them an influence
over public policy the ordinary voter can only dream of. When this
relationship is combined, as it is in Ireland, with a clientalist political
system, corruption is the natural and inevitable consequence.

This situation is exacerbated by politics in the 26 Counties being mainly a
profession — one largely confined to a narrow elite. Sons and daughters
inherit "family" seats from fathers, uncles and cousins. A majority of TDs
in the establishment parties come from "political" families. A deputy
motivated to enter politics by deeply-held principle or a desire to change
society for the better is a distinct rarity. Small wonder if politics has
become a breeding ground for corruption.

A clientalist system, a closed political class, an unhealthy relationship
between politics and business — these are some of the reasons why corruption
is integral, not accidental, to 26-County politics. But at the bottom of all
is the absolute moral bankruptcy of the business and political elite.

These are people with a gaping hole where others keep their conscience; a
group so bloated with arrogance, they imagine they do not walk the same
earth as the rest of us, breathe the same air, or owe obedience to the same
laws. Like Haughey, who told the country to tighten its belt, then sipped
champagne while hospital wards were closed, they preach "wage restraint" for
workers while squandering millions on private jets and strings of racehorses
for themselves. Their arrogance and conceit are summed up in Denis O'Brien —
a man who, having made millions out of this country, moved abroad to avoid
paying tax, and now calls Ireland a "communist state" because some of us
dare question the actions of our business and political masters.

The court of King Bertie and his tawdry train of gombeens, incompetents and
crooks is as rotten as that of Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette. Our
contemporary aristocracy, the political fixers and the well-heeled alumni of
Blackrock and Clongowes, are as arrogant and amoral as any titled fool of
the past. Now, where are the tumbrils*?

* a vehicle carrying condemned persons (as political prisoners during the
French Revolution) to a place of execution

An Phoblacht Magazine

AN PHOBLACHT MAGAZINE:

The first edition of this new magazine will feature a 10 page special on the life and legacy of our leader Martin McGuinness to mark the first anniversary of his untimely passing.

It will include a personal reminiscence by Gerry Adams and contributions from the McGuinness family.

There will also be an exclusive interview with our new Uachtarán Mary Lou McDonald.